Draconis
by Xenoglossy
Summary: Draco ponders the meaning of his "ridiculous" name one dusty, summer evening in Romania.


Pre Fic Rantings and a Sprinkle of Disclaimer: Whee. This is so random I don't know where to begin, so I won't.  
Actually, on second thought, I will. Momo Caily and I went to see 'Reign of Fire' (which pleasently surpirsed me with it's kick-ass-ness) and then scoured the city for Harry Potter notebooks. Dragons + Harry Potter = Jenn needing to write fanfiction.  
I wrote this in Second Cup over some chocolate milk and much giggling from Momo.  
None of this belongs to me, but I write it anyways. I'm a rebel. ^ ^  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Draconis  
Izzy Girl  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
My name means "dragon".  
  
So the story goes, it was a dusty evening, late September in Romania, when Father finally caught on.  
  
Funny. Mother was seven months pregnant. She always ws good at keeping secrets. She weaved my Father into many a deceptive web. I remember that the rest of the family would often proclaim that she was, at the very least, a quarter Veela. But Mother never told, only smiled.  
  
"That woman..." My Uncle Mathias murmered to me over the top of a story book one night beside the fireplace, "Bears no Dark mark. I fancy even The Dark lord himself was wary of her..."  
  
But Mother slipped. Something in the wistful gaze she cast upon the she-dragons and their wyrven tipped my father off.  
  
She only chuckled and laid a slender hand across her barely bloated stomach.  
  
"Draco." she said simply, "His name will be Draco."  
  
Father's response was less than enthusiastic. After a moment of silence, he said:  
  
"That's a bloody ridiculous name for a Malfoy, Narcissa."  
  
  
  
  
  
I never saw a dragon until I was 16. I always wanted to, though. The raw power and beauty of the great beasts intrigued me from an early age and plauged me throughout adolescence. They reminded me of the Slytherin baslisk, only... purer.  
  
A dragon does not worry itself with ambition. A dragon simply is.  
  
I caught a glance of one once. A flash of heat, scales and fire through a muddy window.  
  
Ironically enough, -he- had led me there.  
  
Harry Potter, Wonderboy and his pathetic hanger-on fanclub crowded around the fire place with the brutish half-giant Hagrid. I felt as if they were stealing a birth right. Jealousy and anger moved my feet to McGonagoll's office, far out ruling the common sense that told me disjointedly: 'Ah, Draco, you're dammning yourself as well.'  
  
I hadn't been intending to report them, of course. I was just curious as to what Potter was doing wandering about the school at dusk. His life would be far too easy if I weren't always two steps behind, after all.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
No, it wasn't until I was 16 that I truly saw a dragon.  
  
My last summer vacation from Hogwarts I taught myself how to apparate.  
  
So, I grabbed my broomstick and apparated myself all the way to Romania.  
  
They found me like that, clinging to my broom as i wavered in the breeze, eyes fixed obsessively on the magestic flight of those beautiful creatures.  
  
So enthralled was I that I neglected to hear the stifled giggles and youthful voices. I didn't hear the footstepd, good natured teasing or the sound of dry rock crunching under Muggle hiking boots.  
  
"Malfoy!?"  
  
I jumped and spun, still clinging to the hilt of my broom, to stare blankly at perhaps the last gathering of young Wizards I had wanted to see.  
  
Potter and the Weasels. Just the twins and Potter's shadow. And the Weaselette. Mudblood Granger was there as well, but she never irritated me beyond the classroom.  
  
"That's not my name, Goddammnit!" I shouted suddenly, still effected by the sight of the dragons shummering against the red sunset and the volumes of meaning my Mother had poured into my given name, "My name is Draco, Potter. DRACO!"  
  
I ignored my own hypocricy, but didn't expect them to do so. I waited for the retorts; the insults, the taunts, the mocking laughs, but was met only by the gloss, myopic gaze of my enemy.  
  
I blinked and considered for a moment (just one), that perhaps Harry saw the connection.  
  
I shook off the thought swiftly and stole the moment of silence to mount my broom and jump from the edge of the cliff face. I dipped down, then rose as my broom caught the wind.  
  
I was off to fly with the dragons. 


End file.
